This Poem was Submitted By: lonnie hicks On Date: 2002-12-29 20:40:32 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Written

12:53: I begin between these black lines--  white spaces blinking back-- my two hands outstretched crafting nothing; I cannot write; crossed; blocked, stoppages, tea cup emptied, usual tricks limp-- my muse bereft, I am alone with the fulsomeness of it. 1:15 My Gods are all adrift. My well's dig down out of reach; my mind's fount's dry--asleep. Panic now. 1:35 Poetry's realm lost to me-- a cruel feeling. That which came before so easily is now silouetted dimly. I cry a dry uncryable tear. 2:35 I cup a new cup of cold tea. 3:03 Whatever this is  come to me gradually curiosity now feels greater than  my writer's grief. I want to see the outline this specter is--  to write when nothing's there no face  no driven ideas no words span no creativity transformed or fixed.... 3:33 Hushed I lie down with it; my bed of paradox-- it's experience embraced. I am swept to the surrender of writing about the nothingness at my pen, now shaking. 4:53 three drafts; a small epiphany: Ample is all experience no blank lines will ever reach or witness. By this my last lines written after 4:53 from listlessness and nothing to expressions of same-- poetically-- minor miracle this.

Copyright © December 2002 lonnie hicks


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